[A work in progress in response to another challenging prompt from Two Sylvias Press]

I fear no evil says the psalm
As I recline on God’s green knolls
Choirs sing of Gilead’s sweet balm
To heal our sin-sick souls

But I fear that faith is but illusion
A tale told but to soothe my soul
I fear my life’s too soon conclusion
My self, my story just more burnt coal

I long for a simple fear – like heights
Clowns, drowning, living alone
Spiders, snakes, or even flight –
To be my comfortable millstone

Ah, but then, perhaps, I’d live my time
Without the need to ever rhyme